


Out on location

by in_a_pickle



Series: Inaccurate versions of a well thumbed classic [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, British romantic comedy, For the super good omens fans, Good Omens Character Cameos, Hanky Panky referenced but not seen, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Light Angst, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_pickle/pseuds/in_a_pickle
Summary: Both ‘Angelic Design’ and ‘Morning Star Creative’ were market leaders within the film and television industry, offering production companies portfolios of high quality locations and set designs and let’s just say they don’t get on.Aziraphale and Crowley in an AU where they meet each other working for rival Film companies often in locations that might have appeared in our favourite TV series (and in some cases definitely didn’t).
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Inaccurate versions of a well thumbed classic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902556
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I took the took the Book,TV, Radio, Script and Fan Fiction world of Good Omens and wizzed it up in a blender then poured it out into some sort of a story. Subsequently facts, timelines, events and characters have all come out a bit mixed up but I hope you’ll find it a lot of fun. Suspend your disbelief!

**Tadfield Cottage, South Downs, Sussex**

He loaded the last of the suitcases into his car, a small pot plant was then nestled between them for safety. He returned inside for his satchel and swept his eyes over this home they had shared together for the last few years. A painful lump lodged in his throat, he couldn’t believe it was over, not after being together for so long. He placed an envelope on the old kitchen table, a single item sealed within. He picked up a pen and wrote on the front, his hand shaking slightly, _Just in case you change your mind. A x_. He opened the front door and whispered. “Goodbye Anthony,” and closed it softly behind him.   
  


*****

**West London, Head Office (3 months later)**

A shaft of brilliant late afternoon sunlight filtered down the stairwell, bathing Aziraphale Fell in an almost ethereal light. He paused in the foyer and hesitated for a moment watching the stream of commuters passing by, radiating a malevolence that could only be attributed to London rush hour in full swing.

Aziraphale Fell felt he was quite an unremarkable sort of man approaching middle age with the signs of a comfortable life settling over his frame like a soft blanket. He was of medium height with a shock of white blond curls and an attractive kind of face that people instantly trusted. His eyes were sometimes grey and sometimes blue, depending on his mood.

His first week at ‘Angelic Design’ was at an end, his new colleagues had seemed pleasant enough, everyone working hard to achieve the high expectations his immaculately groomed boss demanded. Gabriel was a very tall imposing man who wore beautifully tailored suits, he was imperious and a perfectionist and liked to shake everyone’s hand warmly before they left on a Friday evening. Gabriel had huge hands and Aziraphale wondered if this was more for intimidation value than for gratitude.

The offices of ‘Angelic Design’ occupied the first and second floor of a grand old warehouse in West London. It’s smooth lined interior, floor to ceiling windows and shiny floors were a mission statement in themselves. Despite it’s success the company was souless and as sterile as a vet’s waiting room but it was just what Aziraphale needed right now to make a fresh start after the last 3 months of self-examination and unhappiness.

In the basement and lower basement of the warehouse you would find the offices of ‘Morning Star Creative’ a rival company to its lofty brother. It spewed forth genius and brilliance in Hellish measures mixed in with a good dose of misery from its downtrodden employees. Both ‘Angelic Design’ and ‘Morning Star Creative’ were market leaders within the film and television industry, offering production companies portfolios of high quality locations and set designs and let’s just say they didn’t get on.

Separating the offices of these two companies was the ground floor foyer where Aziraphale was currently standing about to get the shock of his life. It housed the lift, the stairwells, and a meeting room that acted as some form of neutral ground should both companies ever have to interact. The last time this happened you might have well believed the world had ended.

Aziraphale caught a glimpse of himself in the double doors that lead out on to the street and flattened his wayward curls with a hand before carefully draping his coat over his arm. If asked he would describe his look as ‘vintage‘ and today’s ensemble saw him wearing a pastel pink shirt, a soft pair of light brown slacks, a cream waistcoat and a tartan bow tie reflecting today’s colour choices. If you opened his small wardrobe in his tiny flat in Soho, you would find the basics of this outfit were replicated in similar pastel tones and he interchanged them daily. His shoes were brown and his coats were cream and the overall effect gave the owner the look of an quintessential English gentleman.

He was alone in the building’s foyer, humming to himself and checking on his mobile phone that there were no disruptions to the Underground Central Line that evening. Footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs that lead down to the the offices in the basement. It was quiet in the building and they cut through the huge echoing space ringing louder as they approached the final top steps.

Aziraphale looked up from his phone.

The owner of the footsteps appeared out of the stairwell in front of him. The man was wearing a baseball cap, a sharp black jacket that sat on narrow shoulders covering a black T-shirt emblazoned with a band name. His long legs were clad in tight black jeans and he had pulled his stylish ensemble together with a pair of designer sunglasses that sat on his prominent nose. An all too familiar prominent nose, here before Aziraphale stood the doppelgänger of a man who he had loved above all others for so long and who had just broken his heart.

He felt his insides drop right through his feet and blood pounded in his ears and whilst his confused brain told him this couldn’t possibly be Anthony a ridiculous flicker of hope filled the void in his chest. The taller man removed his cap and long auburn hair fell around his shoulders, he watched as the blonde man sagged visibly and exhale, a hand over his heart. He peered into Aziraphale’s face concerned.

“You okay there?” The red haired man asked. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost?” He threw him a big smile. “Big fan of ghosts, me”.

Aziraphale closed his mouth and managed to gather himself together feeling a fool. “Yes I’m fine, thank you, you just . . . caught me off guard . . reminded me of somebody, that’s all,” he stumbled out, embarrassed. ”Everything’s . . er. . . . tickety boo.” He said with a wave of his hand.

“Tickety boo?” The man repeated with amusement. Aziraphale painfully observed he had an equally attractive wolfish grin.

The lift doors suddenly pinged open and some of the junior colleagues from upstairs filed out in an orderly fashion calling out their goodbyes and hopes of a good weekend. Aziraphale turned to acknowledge their farewells with a weak smile and raised hand. He turned back towards the man, but he’d left, a glimpse of his red hair just visible before it was swallowed into the jaws of the capital.

*********

**  
Greek Street, Soho**

Since the break up with Anthony, Aziraphale’s weekends had become 48 hours of festering gloominess, where he would sit and brood, look at old photos and wonder where it had all gone wrong. He plodded up the stairwell to his small flat set above a quirky old bookshop on a corner of Greek Street in Soho. He had never actually been brave enough to go inside the shop, though he loved old books, it looked very uninviting and always seemed to be closed.

Balancing a take away pizza on his knee, a bottle of red wine under one arm and his post under the other, he managed to open his front door without any fallout. A success at least. The flat inside was dim but cosy with a lounge area leading through to a smaller darker back room that held a writing desk, a chair and was shelved wall to wall with books. A small kitchenette was to the side of this and through a side door a double bedroom with an tiny ensuite. Anthony had insisted that they lived in central London for work and Aziraphale had bought the tiny flat twenty years ago with his inheritance, he was still paying it off. It didn’t feel like home.

He sat down at the small desk and opened the take away box inhaling the spicy aroma. He poured himself a glass of red wine and took a large gulp. They had shared this flat for quite a few years before he had suggested heading off to Sussex to try out a new life in the countryside, this was when things very slowly began to unravel. Aziraphale looked around at the small reminders of Anthony he had placed around the room still unable to accept that this part of his life was over. An old pair of cracked sunglasses, a baseball from a match they had seen together in America, a theatre musical programme from ‘Sister Act‘, a photo in a silver frame of happier times.

The photo was of Aziraphale and Anthony, it was black and white and they were playing draughts, or chequers as Anthony liked to call it. A friend had captured the moment where Aziraphale had just caught Anthony cheating and his face shone with mock outrage. Anthony was leaning back in his chair laughing, hands open, accepting he’d been rumbled. It was his favourite picture of them both.

Falling to pieces in front of that red headed man today, who had reminded him so much of Anthony, only reinforced that he was indeed going mad with heart break. This weekend was already a write off . . . . He look another large slug of wine.

*****

  
  
**  
West London, Head Office**

“Hold the lift!” A voice shouted.

It was Monday morning and Aziraphale was on his way up to the office, the doors to the lift were just closing when he heard the shout. Feeling particularly cantankerous that morning after a miserable weekend Aziraphale chose to ignore the request and waited for the doors to close before he selected the first floor button. Just before they slid shut a long fingered hand shot through the gap and the doors obediently re-opened. The long fingers were attached to a long arm and then the recognisable form of the red headed man in sunglasses, who he had met on Friday afternoon, slithered in behind them.

“And good morning to you,” he scowled, “That wasn’t very nice, for an ‘Angel’.” He pressed the Lower Basement button crossly without asking.

The doors closed. The lift didn’t move.

“An Angel?” said Aziraphale, feeling a bit guilty at his behaviour.

“Angelic Design, you’re one of them aren’t you?” He gestured with his finger pointing upwards, ”we call you guys ‘The Angels’ downstairs.” He smirked and gestured rudely, “up there, in more ways than one.”

Aziraphale ignored the insult, “I’m not even supposed be talking to you,” he whispered, “we’re rivals, it’s company policy.”

“Yeah, Gabe right?” The red headed man’s phone began to protest loudly.

“Michael actually.”

Micheal the HR manager had warned him in his welcome orienteering session against making contact with anyone from downstairs, but it was never explained why and you were discouraged from asking questions*. Apparently asking questions could get you in serious trouble.

“Damn it!” The taller man swore patting his pockets “I forgot a pen.” He glowered and hit the lift button again.

The lift doors reopened, they were still in the foyer. The man groaned with frustration, “bloody rats in the wiring again,” he rattled away at the close button. The doors slid shut.

“Can’t you borrow one?”

“What?”

“A pen.”

“Ha,” he scoffed, “we don’t go in for such niceties down there and anyway I’m so late I haven’t got time to stop.” He considered kicking in the lift’s control panel.

“Oh I’m sure they’ll understand.” said Aziraphale, not believing for one moment Gabriel would.

“Have you met my boss?”

“Oh, here then, take one of mine,” offered Aziraphale trying to make amends for earlier.

The other man took the pen, it was gold and sleek and looked expensive, he put it in his top pocket. “Thanks,” he said, trying out a grateful look, “I’ll give it back.” Aziraphale shrugged knowing the likelihood hood of that happening was very slim.

Aziraphale looked at the man again with curiosity as he tapped away slightly hysterically at his phone before banging away at the lift button to the lower basement with his fist. The lift decided to descend at last.

“C’mon, c’mon. If I’m not there in one minute Luther will fry me.” He looked up, “Crowley, by the way,” he said as a form of introduction. The lift pinged and the doors opened revealing blood red walls damp with perspiration. Crowley stepped out and looked back raising an eyebrow, “and it’s rude to stare. Angel.” He shot off out of sight.

Crowley strode down the maze of corridors thinking that the man he’d just left in the lift was very cute but a bit of a strange one. He was definitely the same guy was that was gawping at him last Friday after work, but, hey, he was only human after all.

Crowley knew he looked good and wore his expensive clothes well, he also liked to think he was still in his thirties though that was pushing it a bit now. His features were handsome though mostly hidden away behind dark sunglasses and his smile was frequent but rarely genuine. His crowning glory was the mass of dark auburn hair that currently swung around his shoulders. He was damn sexy and he knew it.

He’d adopted the mononym ‘Crowley’ when he started working for Luther as he thought it gave him an enigmatic edge and set him apart from the rabble. His less aspiring colleagues hated his smooth arrogance and he was often referred to as that ‘Flash Bastard’ between themselves. But even Flash Bastards have off days and today he was just another stressed out worker running for his life trying to escape the wrath of his boss.

Still, even under pressure Crowley rocked a hip-swing any catwalk model would envy.

*****  
  


The lift ascended to the first floor and Aziraphale stepped out into the brightly lit corridor. He hung up his coat in the cloakroom area and pulled out his named packed lunch that he placed in the fridge located in the designated food storage area. He would eat that later in the area designated for food consumption between 1.15pm and 2.15pm.

The office space at Angelic Design was open plan and all the workstations were divided into booths arranged in such a way no co-worker could make eye contact with another. He walked past the huge glass walled office where Gabriel was stationed, his desk facing into the room where he could monitor any unlikely subordinate goings on amongst his employees. A single name in gold script on the door announced who was inside. Gabriel was very keen on being on first name terms with his team, he thought it made him approachable.

He found his cubicle and sat down starting up his computer, the heavenly backdrop behind the company’s logo flickered into life. He picked up from where he had finished on Friday evening and ran through the design brief again. He was working on a six part TV mini-series that required historical locations as both studio and location pieces, it was all shaping up nicely. Aziraphale had spent most of his working life in the media industry and this type of research and design is where he found himself most at home. He was already looking forward to trailing through books and the archives to find the right style of pot or plate to recreate the perfect scene. His job also came with quite a bit of travel and some locations were so interesting he almost forgot he was at work at all.

He glanced at his wristwatch after a while, it was 10am and Aziraphale was currently focused on a pulling together a set inside an Italian Taverna around 41 A.D. The photos he was clicking through made his mind wander, it began immersing itself in the sights and sounds of a Roman tableaux that began to take shape in his imagination.

“Mr Fell!” A large hand clamped on his shoulder startling Aziraphale out of his daydream and he was suddenly faced with the extensive fake smile of his boss. “How’s our new recruit settling in?” Whilst he had the feeling this was very much a rhetorical question he bravely tried to sound casual and grateful for the attention.

“Oh . . .er . . . fine. Thank you.” His usually soft voice seemed to boom across the office. No one else was to be seen, heads ducked down behind partitions. If silence could get quieter it just did. Gabriel pulled himself up to his enormous height and widened his toothy smile until it almost became a grimace. Aziraphale felt very small and very intimidated.

“Takes a little while to know the ropes, hey sunshine.” He grabbed him firmly on the shoulder giving it a paralysing friendly shake. “Remembering who we are.” Gabriel looked around at the booths and showed a clenched fist of unity to his cowering workers. Aziraphale wanted the ground to swallow him up. “And who we’re not,” he pointed downwards with a shake of his large head, eyes wide. He continued, “this includes sharing lift space and conversation with our rivals, our fallen brothers.” Aziraphale nodded subserviently wishing this awful scene to be over as soon as possible. “We’ll overlook it this time as a rookie mistake, hey Zira?” He landed a friendly punch on his arm. It hurt. Gabriel strode purposefully back to his office collecting a couple of trembling High Five’s on the way.

Aziraphale now suspected Gabriel’s office housed more CCTV surveillance than an underground car park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The reason, he had learned later, concerned the original family company that had split when wayward son Luther fell out with his siblings after he disagreed with them how the company was being run. The family quashed his rebellion and he was kicked out of the fold, taking some of the former employees with him, to go it alone. And he did. Luther started a rival business, enticing former clients to rethink their loyalties and seducing new ones through the promise of acclaim and recognition within the Industry. Not content with spreading general discord and disharmony through the ranks Luther thought there was no better place to cause havoc than to start up his business in the basement of the family building.


	2. Chapter 2

**St Augustine’s Church , Kilburn, London**

Aziraphale referred to his notes as he stood outside the church, he loved these old buildings, steeped in so much history and he was pleased he was visiting several around London today. This one was particularly beautiful and as he entered he savoured the ancient smell and the cool still air. His shoes clicked up the nave and he ran his hand over the smooth rounded wood of the pews ends.

Here he felt he could find some peace, just for a while. He thought he’d been doing better this week. The tears were less and whilst the ache in his chest hadn’t diminished at all he at least felt he was finally dealing with it, without accepting it.

He paused just near the North Transept and took some photos, the loud click of his camera echoing around the church. He finished up and made some notes, he thought this might be a suitable contender for a 1940’s World War 2 location. He heard the church door creak open and the sound of footsteps approaching, he resisted the urge to turn around and ignored the interloper.

A lithe figure came striding up the aisle, an amused smirk on his face when he caught sight of Aziraphale, his unique ensemble and blonde curly hair giving him away immediately.

“It’s not everyday you find an Angel in a church.”

Aziraphale spun around, “what are you doing here?” He blustered, a mixture of shock and panic.

“Same as you by the looks of it.” He leaned in and looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder conspiratorially. “Hey, could I use yours? Save me some time, we could go for a drink?”

“We most certainly could not,” Aziraphale huffed, picked up his camera and notes and stormed off.

“See you around Angel!” Laughed the voice behind him.

**The Globe Theatre, Southwark, London**

Aziraphale had been here a couple of times with Anthony, one time to see Hamlet, a famous Welsh actor had played the leading role and had been jolly good. He had stood and clapped until his hands were sore, Anthony hadn’t been so keen, he preferred the funny ones.

Aziraphale just needed a little bit more information on the space and how many extras they would approximately need to fill it before he could call it a day. He stood in the stalls making some rough calculations.

“To be here or not to be here.” A voice whispered in his ear. Aziraphale squealed and leapt, dropping his notes all over the floor.

“Oh bugger!” He shouted exasperated. “That really was not funny.” Crowley begged to disagree lounging upright and grinning at him as he watched Aziraphale scramble to pick up his papers.

The blonde man then glared at him. “They sent you here too? Are you serious?” He spat.

“Evidently so” laughed Crowley.“Now what about that drink? My treat.”

“No!” Came the reply over a shoulder that was crossly marching off towards the exit.  
  


**The Criterion Restaurant, Piccadilly, London**

Crowley stood in centre of the restaurant as the service staff cleared away the evidence of a busy lunch time and prepared for dinner service. He did a few drawings, took a few measurements and spoke quietly to the manager, gesticulating where tables could be moved to etc. Satisfied with his work Crowley thanked her for her time and took his leave.

“Good afternoon” he called tipping a pretend hat to to the figure approaching him through the entrance hall who just shook his head of blonde curls and rolled his eyes as their paths crossed once more.

  
*****

And so it went on, over the next few months Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves more often that not in the same place at the same time. Crowley as usual was always friendly in his own annoying way and Aziraphale dismissive and aloof, Gabriel’s words ringing soundly in his ears.

Over time Aziraphale began to think the whole avoiding the company ‘hereditary enemies’ policy thing a bit tiresome and impossible to manage. He could hardly be held to account by Gabriel again for being seen with his opposite number if they were always out doing similar assignments.

He had also, against his will he’d like to add, started to keep a look out out for the familiar red hair and sunglasses and if they had started to exchange a few more words when they met, it was purely business of course.  
  


**RAF Upper Heyford, Oxfordshire**

In the driving rain two company cars arrived and pulled up beside each other outside a disused US airbase in Oxfordshire. The cars sat there for 5 minutes whilst one of the drivers tried not to look at the other. The rain pelted down on the windscreens and for both drivers the prospect of getting out and walking around an exposed airstrip in the middle of nowhere was not appealing. A car door suddenly opened, a blonde man dashed out and jumped in the passenger side of the adjacent vehicle.

“Morning Angel,” Crowley was staring ahead through the torrent.

Aziraphale at least had the good grace to accept the absurdity of the situation “Apparently it’s afternoon now,” he said gesturing to the clock.

“Well then, can I tempt you to some lunch?” Crowley said. “Looked like a good pub we passed on the way.” Aziraphale sighed in defeat, nodded and buckled up the passenger seat belt.

**  
The Barley Mow, Upper Heyford, Oxfordshire**

“Well that was scrumptious,” Aziraphale said with a sigh pushing away his empty plate. He looked over at Crowley who was picking at his chips and flicking through his phone. After the initial shock of meeting him for the first time at work, Crowley had slowly begun to separate himself from that painful spectre of Anthony that still occupied his heart. Whilst Crowley was, in his opinion, a mischievous infernal nuisance, he was very good company and always seemed pleased to see him, even if it was just to annoy him further.

Aziraphale watched him, sipping the last few mouthfuls of his bitter shandy. Crowley was currently absorbed in replying to someone on a social media site, his long fingers working away and his red hair falling over his face, he pushed a strand away, tucking it behind one of the arms of his ever present sunglasses exposing a small serpent shaped tattoo by his right ear.

“You know what?” Crowley said not looking up, “I don’t even know your proper name.”

“And I don’t know yours,” Aziraphale replied, stretching out his legs under the table. He needed to make room to digest that delicious Ham, Egg and Chips.

“Yes you do, it’s Crowley” He said petulantly.

“Hmmmm, how very enigmatic.”

After a minute he lifted his eyes from the screen and looked over, head angled questioningly. “What is your name then? It must be pretty bad if you haven’t told me already.”

Aziraphale contemplated this for a moment, before folding his arms over his tummy, leaning back in his chair.

“Tell you what, if you take off your sunglasses I’ll tell you my name.” 

Crowleys lips twitched in a smile, it seemed he approved of his lunch partner’s parry. He drummed his fingers on the table considering his next move. Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. “It’s only fair after all,” he said, “a trade off.”

“And what about if I wear them because my eyeballs are hideously disfigured and I can’t see?”

“Then I would suggest that you let _me_ drive us back to the airbase to pick up the car, my dear”

Crowley’s face broke into a genuine smile and he held up his hands laughing, “okay you bastard, you win.” He took a breath and looking down slowly removed his glasses folding them up neatly on the table. He paused for a moment adjusting to the bright lights of the pub then turned to look at Aziraphale square in the eyes. A pair of very normal and very attractive light brown eyes stared out from a now completely handsome looking face. A dusting of freckles were visible on the tops of his cheeks. Aziraphale smiled and Crowley looked away self-consciously.

“Why ever do you cover them up? Your eyes are quite lovely.”

“I think it makes me look cool?” He offered.

“Like The Terminator?”

“Hasta la Vista Baby” Crowley said in a strong Austrian accent pointing his fingers at him.

“Oh good lord!” sighed Aziraphale swatting them away.

“Okay, I don’t like people to see what I’m thinking, eyes being the windows to your soul and all that,” he said. “The way I live my life it’s easier for me to keep myself hidden.”

Silence.

“I’ll be back,” attempted Aziraphale. His accent was so dreadful Crowley snorted shandy out his nose.

“Well come on then,” Crowley said still coughing and laughing, “I’ve embarrassed myself, now it’s your turn.”

“Very well then, my name is Aziraphale Fell.” Automatically Crowley’s head tilted and Aziraphale could see that as usual the human brain had failed to process his name into anything recognisable.

“I was named after a character in a book, an Angel I think. My parents obviously had no foresight how my name would sound when said out loud and I won’t even go into the Hell I encountered at school. My name was unique and that was all that mattered to them.”

“To give them credit, you do look like a bit like an Angel what with the curly hair, shiny eyes and your pretty face,” he smiled, before returning his sunglasses to his nose.

There was the sound of a wooden chair scraping back over a slate floor.

“Right then” Aziraphale stood up blushing, straightened his waistcoat and smoothed down his trousers.“Shall we pay, the sun has come out and we have an airbase to visit.”

After the airbase incident a truce was declared and over next few weeks they decided to form some sort of Arrangement where they could share their workload. Aziraphale visited Crystal Palace gardens and took pictures of the dinosaurs and benches. Crowley received Aziraphale’s instructions and spent a pleasant few hours in the Sky Gardens overlooking the city. If the location was particularly special they would meet away from the offices and drive there together enjoying the scenery before sneaking off for lunch, it was all rather cosy.

They were both painfully aware of what would happen to them if they were caught colluding and did their upmost to be careful, only using personal mobile phone numbers for communication and only calling each other at home. Sometimes Crowley would call in the evenings or on the weekend when Aziraphale (was coincidentally) in the doldrums and afterwards it seemed his heartache eased a little.

**West London, Head Office**

It was a gloomy Wednesday evening and Aziraphale was looking forward to getting home, opening a bottle of red wine and spending an evening curled up on the sofa with one of his favourite novels. He was stood as usual in the foyer after work checking his travel plans when some of the rabble from downstairs spewed forth from the stairwell. Crowley appeared amongst them.

“Oi Angel, fancy joining us for a drink tonight,” he whispered, swept up in the revelry. Aziraphale froze praying to goodness that no one from upstairs had overheard him. Crowley detached himself from the crowd and waved them on.

Aziraphale glared at him. “No thank you Crowley.” He looked hurriedly around, “and go away,” he hissed. “Do you know what will happen to me if I get caught ‘fraternising’ with the other side?”

“Fraternising!” Crowley lowered his voice and leaned closer, “you wouldn’t want to be caught fraternising with me Angel, you might end up down there with us lot.”

“Shouldn’t you be going, your friends appear to have left you” Aziraphale said dryly.

“Nah, I’ll catch them up.” He looked at Aziraphale for a moment and smiled. He paused, searching around for the right words. ”Hey,” he said as if an afterthought, “maybe _we_ could go out for a drink one night? You know, just you and me.”

Aziraphale stared at him frozen, wide eyed and lost for words and in the silence between them Crowley quickly did a back peddle. “Just as friends, you know. Friends go for drinks. We are friends aren’t we Angel?” Was that a statement or a request? ”We’ve got to be friends by now!” He laughed deflecting any awkwardness. “Please be my friend!” He opened his arms wide, pleading, laughing.

On firmer ground Aziraphale was relieved to accept a formal invitation of friendship in light of anything more complicated. He smiled. “Yes Crowley, we can be friends.” He looked at him with mock anger, “but not here and not now, so go away before you get us both fired.”

He believed Crowley winked before he disappeared through the doors calling into the evening air.

“Night Angel!”

Crowley joined the weary stream of office workers heading home and shot off a text find out where the hordes had assembled to drink. He congratulated himself on rescuing the potentially humiliating situation with Aziraphale with his ego unscathed.

He swaggered down the busy street, hands shoved in his pockets and hair swinging gently around his shoulders. Crowley was confused nonetheless, normally his default seduction setting worked a treat and he pretty much hit the bullseye with anyone he targeted. It was a skill he had been born with, he loved to play games with people and he liked to think he was a more than adequate prize.

Aziraphale’s reaction made him curious though, he tried not to recall the horrified expression on his face, and put it down to the fact that either he’d read this man’s sexual preference wrong (he didn’t think so) or he’d gone in with the date too fast. Crowley by self admission was the last person to bother looking closer than a person’s face, but there definitely was something sad reflected in this man’s otherwise attractive features. He’d seen that expression before. It looked like heartbreak.

Then he had to go and blurt out an embarrassing request to be ‘buddies’, he thought that he might have just preferred being blown out. Crowley was not friends with anyone, he found that kind of thing all a bit sappy. Yet he was loathed to admit that he liked spending time with Aziraphale. He was different, he was funny, he was intelligent, and he made Crowley feel anchored. He was quite unlike anybody he had ever met and he’d met a few.

*****

The bar was busy and he signalled to the barman for a beer, being well known locally had its perks and his drink of choice arrived promptly, beads of condensation starting to cling to the bottle in the heat. Music pumped loudly and his colleagues laughed, jostled and baited each other.

So friends it was then, for now, but he was knew that very soon he would start pushing for more. Crowley grinned to himself, he was nothing if not an optimist and he had absolute faith that the world would eventually give him what he wanted. If he had to wait a little longer for this man to see what was on offer then so be it.

Crowley did actually had a bit of a reputation in the office and local bar scene of being a bit of a tart but never seemed to put anyone off. Those looking for a bit of fun were drawn to him like magpies, eyeing him as a beautiful shiny prize and he rarely left a late night establishment alone.

Crowley leaned back casually on the bar his long legs stretched out and began surveying the room wondering who would take the bait tonight. Inevitably someone would catch his eye, he’d flash them that disarming smile and they would be hooked. Crowley was a charmer, a flirt, and a bit of a rogue and people adored him.

Curiously enough his promiscuous reputation was not founded upon fact but upon the fantasies of those whose pride he had sorely wounded. To explain, once he’d been approached with a drink and a questioning smile, the evening would begin sedately and then begin to slowly spiral with murmured compliments, roaming hands and brushed lips. At some point late in the evening there would be a soft whisper in his ear, “do you want to come home with me?” and the game for Crowley would be over. He would pick up his jacket, see his late night companion home, pausing at the door for one last lingering kiss (or whatever else was on offer) before finding some plausible excuse to take his leave. He would then saunter home alone. Temptation accomplished. It was all a bit of fun.

The abandoned soul would be so mortified at their own failings to get this beautiful man into their bed, they couldn’t possibly be blamed for grieving in the realms of fantasy. They would either do nothing to deny the post-coital congratulations bestowed upon them by their well wishing friends or make up a passionate evening so absurdly eye watering that even the most explicit Fan Fiction writers would shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Occasionally he would spend the night with someone if drink or desire overcame him but the next morning he despised himself and hated the feeling that he had been out manoeuvred at his own game.

Tonight a very attractive dark haired girl with glasses had approached him around about midnight armed with a brace of tequilas and a do or die expression in her eyes. He had accepted the challenge and wasn’t sure if he had won. He did recall that she had left with a young brown haired geeky guy and he wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

*****

He woke the next morning and assessed the damage. The positives were he was at home, in bed and alone. The negatives revealed he was still dressed, he was hungover and his phone was flashing at him angrily. He picked it up, his Manager’s voice tumbled out screaming expletives as he tried to reassemble the words inside his aching head. It was Thursday, the time was 10.15am and he was in deep shit. He needed a friend. He needed a favour. He decided to call Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was taking his regulation morning coffee break (15 minutes) when his private phone rang silently lighting up on the coffee table. It was Crowley. What the Heaven was he doing phoning him at work? He cancelled the call.

His phone rebelliously pinged in to life again. A text this time.

C: Angel. You there?

A: Yes. I am at work BTW!!!!!

C: Am in so much shit!

A: What?

C: Big night. Just woken up. Deadline 4pm

A: And?

C: Need a portfolio. Weird old bookshop scene. Got anything you can email over x

A: No! Absolutely out of the question

C: C’mon Angel, don’t be like that (Prayer hands)

C: I’ll buy you lunch (smiley face)

C: And dessert (two smiley faces)

C: (Three smiley faces and three prayer hands for good measure)

Aziraphale shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. Crowley had asked him to be his friend and friends were there for each other. He also knew just the place.

A: Meet me TCR tube 12pm, bring camera

C: I (heart emoji) U

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TCR - Tottenham Court Road


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale dutifully waited for Crowley at the Tottenham Court Road tube station where he had expected to see him emerge from the London Underground at some point. Instead a Taxi pulled up and the long black legs of the red head swung out. Crowley it appeared always travelled in style. Aziraphale did note though (with some degree of satisfaction) that he was looking rather disheveled, his hair was hidden under a baseball cap and he was looking slightly green. Crowley it seemed wasn’t as bulletproof as he’d like you to believe.

“Thanks for this Angel,” he muttered, “What ever this is you’ve got to show me it can’t be worse than the roasting I’ll get If I rock up later with nothing but a hangover.” He wiped his hand over his face.

“We’ll see,” Aziraphale smiled, “ I just hope he’s not closed. He does keep the most peculiar opening hours.”

They walked a short distance to the corner of his street in Soho where a building with large windows suggested it was an antique book shop without trying to be one. Aziraphale pushed the door, thankfully it opened and gesturing Crowley through the door he said with a smile, “after you.”

Crowley stepped through and looked around, it was indeed the most unwelcoming of places stacked floor to ceiling with a multitude of different kinds of old crackling books. It was dark and dusty with an unpleasant smell of damp. His delicate stomach somersaulted at the smell.

“Hello?” called Crowley in to the gloom.

“We’re closed,” said a voice.

“Erm . . . We’re not here to buy anything,” called Aziraphale.

The movement of a chair and the sound of footsteps was heard from a back room and a smartly dressed man of indistinguishable age appeared from behind one of the bookshelves and stood under the glass oculus in the centre of the shop.

“And I’m not going to sell if that’s what you’re here for.” The man said sternly.

“I’ll handle this,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley. He had a inkling that public relations wasn’t going to be one of Crowley’s strong points today. Plastering on his most wining smile, Aziraphale took the bookseller gently by the elbow and led him away explaining the purpose of their visit. They soon got into a deep conversation, hitting it off immediately, Aziraphale excused him from the animated exchange and looked over at Crowley.

“You have permission to take as many photos you like as long as they are never used to try and entice the general public, in any way, to pay him a visit.” He said with a smile and returned eagerly to the conversation.

Crowley began to wander around the bookshop capturing whatever grabbed his attention. A couple of tacky angel figurines, a collection of snuff boxes, the beautiful oculus sky light that that would have illuminated the shop magnificently if it hadn’t been so filthy. Crowley wondered if this was it’s owners intention.

He weaved his way past collections of Shakespeare, Wilde, Crompton many of which looked like first editions. He took photos of artefacts that looked positively ancient and an old gramophone that still looked in use. He stopped in front of a couple of old looking portrait sketches, one was obviously of the book shop owner and the other a thin faced man in dark spectacles, they were by someone called _‘Leo’_. He passed a desk piled high with more books, a coat stand with hat and scarf and an ancient looking cash register until he found his way through to the bookseller’s back room.

A dilapidated but very comfy looking sofa and chair occupied the cramped space, divided by a coffee table that appeared to be covered in quite a few plates of half eaten cake and a congealed mug of cocoa. Crowley snapped the scene and wondered what on earth this man was doing with such a choice of confectionery, maybe he couldn’t make up his mind which one he wanted, or he just really liked cake.

Also on the cluttered table were two wine glasses, in them the dregs of what appeared to be red wine, and on the small desk under the window a rather large collection of empty wine bottles. A good couple of cases worth by the looks of it. A pair of sunglasses rested next to the empty wine glass near the sofa, as the bookseller didn’t look like the sort to wear them he assumed his guest must have left them behind.

Crowley took off his cap and sat down, lounging back on the comfy couch and began to check through his photos when the two men appeared in front of him, their conversation at an end. The bookseller looked over at where Crowley was sitting and his face broke out in to an indulgent smile, Crowley was thankful his shades were firmly in place.

“Time to go Angel,” he said slithering up to standing, the bookseller almost glowed. “I’ve got some great shots, I might live to tell the tale yet.”

“Jolly good,” said the owner, “it was delightful to have met you both,” he held out an elegantly manicured hand and warmly shook his goodbyes. “Please do pop in again if you are passing.”

They closed the bookshop doors behind them and stood on the pavement outside.

“Well that was a thing,” said Crowley.

“I hope you are going to treat me to a suitably expensive lunch for saving your skinny behind.” Aziraphale said primly, his hands adjusting his waistcoat.

“Skinny!” said Crowley offended trying to look at it behind him. “Surely you mean’t pert? You haven’t been looking at it properly.” He said with a cock of his hips.

“Oh good Lord,” muttered Aziraphale, blushing. “You really are intolerable, I don’t know why I even offered to help you.”

“Obviously because of my irresistible charm and ungrateful skinny behind,” Crowley smirked leaning back on the wall folding his arms looking particularly pleased with himself.

“Well at least there are two things in your favour,” he retorted, “now do come on, I’m famished and you have work to do.”

*****

The next morning at work Aziraphale received a privately delivered package that looked distinctly like a cake box. Checking that Gabriel was busy in his office and wasn’t looking Aziraphale carefully opened the box and looked inside. It contained a most delicious looking loaf of angel cake and a note scribbled in spiky handwriting.

_Skinny behind saved by the skin of my teeth. Thank you again Angel. C x_

The Anthony shaped hole in his chest shifted uncomfortably as something warm poked it.

“Mr Fell!” Boomed a familiar voice behind him. Aziraphale jumped, his bubble burst. How the heaven did Gabriel get over here so quickly. “Can I remind you that personal packages are not to be delivered to your place of work and you currently have what appears to be a food item in a non designated eating area.” His boss gave him what could only be described as a shark infested smile. “I trust you will rectify this oversight and it won’t happen again.” Aziraphale quickly obliged.

*****

C: Can you get out of the office Mon afternoon? Surprise in Mayfair!

A: I’m sure I can arrange something. Location visit near there @ 2pm.

Aziraphale tried to find the right emojis to suggest killing 2 birds with 1 stone but it took too long and he didn’t think Crowley would get it anyway. Crowley texted him back an address and a meeting time.

*****

The Uber taxi dropped Crowley where Aziraphale was waiting just before 4pm at a imposing looking building in Mayfair that housed a selection of luxury apartments. Crowley checked the details on his phone as they approached the doors to the entrance hall. “Says here the Penthouse suite.” He whistled looking up, “just for the record, this is where I want to live one day. Part of the Great Plan.”

“Yes, well good luck with that” sighed Aziraphale thinking about the incredibly meagre quarters he was still just about affording in Soho.

Crowley buzzed the Penthouse Suite and they waited for a response from the occupier, and waited, and waited. Crowley buzzed again twice this time, patience not one of the virtues that had blessed him at birth. Come to think of it none of the virtues had been present at Crowley’s birth or had made an appearance since. Maybe kindness had sneaked in at some point later, though he’d never openly admit it.

Aziraphale was just about to irritate him further by asking him if he’d got the correct appointment time when the intercom crackled in to life.

“Yeah?” came a muffled voice.

“We’re here to pick up the Bentley, for the TV Shoot.”

“Right. . . Yeah . . Okay . . . Just give me a minute. . . . I’ll meet you downstairs.” The intercom went dead.

“He sounded half asleep,” said Crowley, “I swear he just yawned his way through that conversation.”

The purr of an engine was later heard from around the side of the building and the nose of a beautiful 1926 Bentley, black paintwork gleaming, rounded the corner.

Crowley’s eyes nearly popped out from behind his glasses and Aziraphale swore he saw him wipe at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” he drooled.

The Bentley pulled up in front of them, engine idling and the door opened allowing the driver to step out. A man emerged sharply dressed in a black Armani suit, crisp white shirt and long black tie. He looked incredibly good for a man that had supposedly just woken up. He was marginally shorter than Crowley, had shiny dark hair and good cheekbones, he smelt of expensive cologne and bonfires. He placed a gentle hand on top of the Bentley’s roof and the engine cut out with a sigh.

His snakeskin shoes clicked on the cobbles beneath his feet as he walked towards them, looking over the forms of Crowley and Aziraphale behind an exclusive pair of Gucci sunglasses. The dark haired man held out a set of keys, that hadn’t appeared to come out of the ignition.

He looked at Crowley with a terrifying stare but then nodded in approval as if to accept he could trust him with his baby. “You know what will happen to you if she comes back with so much as a ssssscratch.” He said. Crowley thought he did know. It wasn’t pleasant.

The man turned and walked towards the entrance doors opening them with a click of his fingers.

“New fangled technology I expect,” observed Aziraphale

“Get in Angel”.

Crowley turned the key in the ignition and the car purred to life, sometimes his job was phenomenal. He tapped the studio address into his phone and pulled out gently onto the road. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, very closely, even when the Mayfair building was out of sight.

“Shall we have some music?” said Aziraphale brightly. “It’s got a tape deck.” He rummaged through some tape cases looking at titles.

“What is there?” Crowley asked, intrigued at what kind of music the car’s owner would listen to.

“The Velvet Underground?” Suggested Aziraphale.

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

Aziraphale popped it in the tape deck and pressed play. The Queen song ‘I’m in love with my car’ blared out from the speakers.

“What the Hell?” Said Crowley popping out the cassette in disgust, “he must have taped over it.”

“Well what about putting on the radio,” Aziraphale suggested, “there’s always a good play or something interesting on Radio 4.” He punched in the number 4 button without questioning that was where it was found on every British car stereo. A voice slurred out of the speakers.

_“Whole sea bubbling, poor old dolphins so much seafood gumbo, no one giving a damn. Same with gorillas . . . “_

Aziraphale changed the radio station.

_“Whoops, they say, sky gone all red, stars crashing to ground . . .”_

He changed it again.

_“What they putting in the bananas these days?”_

He turned the radio off. “Not quite what it used to be is it.” He said with a shake of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you recognise Book!Aziraphale and Book!Crowley? It’s good to see he has Radio!Crowley as a preset on all his car radio stations. 
> 
> I also have a feeling that Lockdown!Crowley didn’t stay quarantined on his own for long either.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a late Saturday morning and Aziraphale put his book down, finished his cup of tea and decided it was time to get out of bed. The weekend was looking warm and sunny and it was on an afternoon like this that he may have suggested to Anthony that they went out for a picnic. Anthony had often been a bit grumpy about open air eating always complaining about wasps and damp grass. But he came along if he was free and it was lovely to breathe in some country air and get out for a drive in his beloved old car. They’d sit and chat and maybe if Anthony was feeling in a good mood he would say something nice with that lovely American lilt of his and Aziraphale would blush and look at him beaming with pride and . . . oh, well, this was no good at all. He got up.

It has been 6 months and he was still pining for what they had, what Anthony had told him he was not good enough for. He stood in front of the wardrobe mirror in his small bedroom and looked at his reflection. He pulled in his stomach and rolled back his shoulders and tried to oversee the soft flesh that hugged his body. Anthony had said he was letting himself go, going to seed and he only had himself to blame. He sagged and his reflection sagged too. Oh how he wanted him back, to prove he was worthy of being loved. Maybe Anthony was sometimes a bit mean with his words and he would scowl and roll his eyes if he said something a bit too boring or irritating and occasionally he would be a bit careless with him if he’d had too much to drink, but it was mostly good, and _damn it_ he was lonely.

Crowley had said he’d got a pretty face, had he meant it or was he as usual teasing him? He regarded his features in the mirror touching his face gently, he certainly wasn’t unattractive and yet he was hardly anything as handsome as his friend. He smiled when he thought of Crowley taking off his glasses and seeing those lovely big brown eyes that he always had hidden away. He had looked so open and vulnerable without all his bravado that Aziraphale had felt quite privileged that Crowley had let him see him that way. He laughed at the memory of how hungover Crowley had looked at the bookshop, but he’d still treated him to lunch, even though the poor boy had hardly touched a thing. He liked their new found friendship, he smiled at the thought and a much happier face smiled back at him.

Aziraphale’s phone pinged beside his bed that announced Crowley’s weekend check in. It was something that Crowley had started after they exchanged phone numbers early on in their Arrangement, always around noon on a Saturday asking Aziraphale what he was up to, he had no idea why his boring life was of any interest to him.

He pinged back a reply.

A: Decided on an afternoon drive to the countryside for a picnic

And then to make him laugh added,

A: You’re very welcome to join me, I’m packing my tartan thermos flask and pickled eggs

He grinned at the thought of Crowley, sitting on his quaint picnic blanket in all his designer clothes eating floppy sandwiches and drinking warm ginger beer. He was still enjoying this thought when his phone made a noise.

C: Pick me up 2pm C x

“Oh bugger.”

Aziraphale’s heart began to hammer. Did friends go together for picnics? He was sure that sort of thing was reserved for lovers or exhausted parents with small children. Friends had drinks at the pub, watched the football or maybe helped each other move large objects around the house. But picnics? Oh dear, after turning down Crowley’s tentative offer of a date he now didn’t want to go and give him the wrong idea.

*****

Aziraphale started the engine of his beloved car, it was a classic, a cream 1969 Morris Minor Traveller and he had kept it in beautiful condition. It purred in appreciation as its owner carefully steered her through the streets of London to Crowley’s building. Crowley was waiting outside slouched up against a lamp post involved in some hideous game on his mobile. He looked up as the Morris Minor sidled up beside him. Aziraphale got out.

“Crowley are you sure you want to come?” He fussed. “I’m sure you’ll find the whole trip terribly tiresome.”

Crowley looked through him, a huge smile on his face. He ran his hand gently over the wing of the car, “she’s beautiful Angel, not a mark on her.” he said with respect.

Aziraphale beamed with the praise and he watched as Crowley’s hands moved around the car his long fingers caressing the paintwork reverently. He cleared his throat. “Shall we,” he said opening the passenger door. Crowley slid inside and inhaled the leathery scent, he hummed his approval. Aziraphale reached across and double checked that Crowley had firmly fastened his seatbelt much to his amusement and they sedately set off for their afternoon jaunt.

Once London was left behind Aziraphale explained where they were going, it was a semi-derelict historic Manor House in Buckinghamshire and it was sometimes open to the public. Today happened to be one of those days. Aziraphale thought it might be a suitable location for the mini-series he was working on and he thought he’d like to take a look.

“So bit of a work trip really,” he added with a nervous laugh trying to redirect any thoughts Crowley might be having that this was anything else. Crowley looked over and smiled a leisurely smile, “whatever Angel, it’s just nice to be out . . . with you.” Aziraphale blushed and cursed his pale skin.

**Bulstrode Manor, Buckinghamshire**

Aziraphale parked the car on the drive in the grounds of the old manor and switched off the engine, Crowley had fallen asleep somewhere along the A40 his head resting uncomfortably on an arm. Aziraphale regarded him fondly for a moment, sleep relaxing his features. He touched him gently. “We’re here.”

Crowley stirred and Aziraphale assumed he had opened his eyes, difficult to tell really, he lolled his head around and grinned. “Don’t take that that wrong way,” he said, “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Well I don’t know about you,” Aziraphale got out and stretched in the sunshine, “but I’m famished, shall we eat first and then see the house later?”

He told Crowley to stay in the car and wake up a bit whilst he busied himself with opening the back doors of the car and getting out the picnic blanket and hamper. He set it out underneath a shady tree and began to unpack a few things, obviously enjoying himself. Crowley watched him for a minute a warm feeling blooming in his chest. This was good, he thought, not like anything he’d usually be doing on a Saturday afternoon (watching TV), but it was a different kind of good.

Aziraphale finally sat down and called him over patting a spot next to him. Crowley swung out the the car and stood there looking down at where Aziraphale was sitting.

“I can’t sit on that!” He said gesturing to the twee tartan rug. “What if I get papped?”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous” Aziraphale blustered, “I hardly think the Paparazzi would be hanging around a sorry looking Manor House in the middle of nowhere waiting for you to disgrace yourself.”

“I’ve got my reputation to maintain you know,” he said crossing his arms, “sitting on that will be the end of me if I’m seen.”

“ _Notorious British Playboy in tartan rug scandal_.” Aziraphale giggled signing the headline with an arc of his hand. “ _London heartthrob caught in tryst with ham sandwich_.” He was enjoying himself. “ _Exposed! Secret sausage roll fetish of fast-living wide boy!_ ”

“Oh shut up,” laughed Crowley as he folded himself up and perched his bottom on the very top edge of the tartan rug as a compromise. He looked over at all the food set out beautifully on the blanket, and he saw for a moment what life with Aziraphale might be like. Crowley’s life was pretty chaotic and he enjoyed it that way, but he’d never had guessed that this sort of domesticity would feel so comfortable. This man was going to be the undoing of him and he realised he didn’t care one bit. 

They shared the picnic whilst Aziraphale explained all about the history of the manor and the plans for a redevelopment one day. Crowley stretched out his legs lazily listening to his voice and watched with a smile how Aziraphale became so animated and excited when he was trying to share something he found interesting.

Crowley’s ego finally accepted defeat and he stretched himself fully out on the tartan blanket, replete, his friend politely didn’t mention it.

“Tell me about him,” he said after Aziraphale had paused the history lesson to pick at some grapes. “The one I remind you of.”

Aziraphale’s face suddenly changed. “Why do you think . . . . “

“Come on Angel, I know heart break when I see it and you can’t deny acting all weird when I first met you. You kept staring at me, and not in the usual way people do.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a few moments, looking over at the dilapidated house, the spot and situation was so idyllic it didn’t deserve to be tainted with his tale of woe. But knowing Crowley as he did he wouldn’t let this question lie, he turned towards him and opened his heart.

“His name was . . . is . . . Anthony (he pronounced the ‘th’) and we were together for 20 years, he broke it off about 3 months before I started my new job. We met in London when we were in our twenties, we had both ended up there as most people do to further our careers. I was working as a researcher for a TV company and he was an actor, working part-time in a night club, ‘The Hellfire Club’, I think it was called. He had come over from America after a film he was lined up for was pulled. He had one of the leading roles you know. He thought he’d have more luck over here. He did quite well actually, one of his favourites was playing an evil alien in that Doctor Who programme, the one with that nice Scottish fellow. We’d both accumulated quite a decent nest egg and so we decided to relocate to the countryside, to get away from London, though we could still work if we wanted.”

He paused and took a long sip of ginger beer, Crowley still looked interested, so he continued.

“We rented out our flat in Soho and moved to Sussex, a beautiful little cottage by the sea. It was wonderful for a while but after a few years Anthony changed, he started to stay away more, he seemed unhappy. I suggested moving back to London but it became apparent I had become his problem. I suppose I had got rather comfortable with our life. One evening he came back from a trip and said he wanted me to leave. I’m afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself in trying to get him to change his mind and it only seemed to make matters worse. He stormed out saying that I’d better be gone by the time he came back the next day or there would be nothing for me to hope for. So I packed my bags that night and left the next morning for London. I haven’t heard anything more from him since, I’m not sure if he’ll change his mind, but I’m sort of hoping that he will. So that my dear boy is my sorry story.” He trailed off and brushed the crumbs from his lap.

“He sounds like a complete tool,” said Crowley thinking he’d like to punch him in the face.

Aziraphale appeared not to have heard him, “He’s very handsome, and yes he does look like you my dear, the same aquiline nose in particular.” He touched Crowley’s nose lightly with a finger.

“Aquiline?” said Crowley. “Like a horse?”

“Aquiline, not equine,” Aziraphale chuckled, he gestured, “like a Roman nose.”

“Oh, thanks?”

“You reminded me so much of him when we met that I thought it was going to make our acquaintance rather tricky for me.”

Crowley tried not to take this the wrong way, he thought this guy sounded an idiot.

“But I’m glad it didn’t,” he popped a grape into his mouth.

Crowley absentmindedly threw a few crumbs to a robin hopping about looking for spoils, they watched him for a while pleased at the distraction,. Aziraphale lay back looking up at the blue sky breathing in the sights and sounds and thinking at this moment, things were not so bad. It was good to have a friend to talk to, he just hoped he hadn’t revealed too much and now Crowley thought he was as mad as he often felt.

Aziraphale leaned back to look over at Crowley running his eyes over his friends familiar profile, he gestured to the small tattoo by his right ear.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about your serpent symbol?” He said tapping his own face in the same place. “Does it mean anything significant or personal to you?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said rolling back and leaning on his arms, “it’s a long forgotten ancient Chinese symbol.”

“Really,” said Aziraphale sitting up, his interest piqued.”What does it mean?”

“Behold the mighty trouser snake.”

Aziraphale looked at him, scanning his face for the slightest twitch that would give his ridiculous game away. Crowley looked back innocently.

“Behold the mighty trouser snake.” Aziraphale repeated levelly with raised eyebrows.

Crowleys nostrils twitched, before a shudder of laughter rippled through his body and he lay back holding his belly. “You should see your face,” he cackled.

Aziraphale threw a grape at him laughing, “you are wicked!”

*****

The rest of the day was spent basking in the glorious sunshine then an hour poking around the old Manor House and gardens until the light began to fade. When they returned to the car Aziraphale produced a tartan flask of tea as promised and they both sat in the back of the Morris Minor, double doors open, in companionable silence drinking tea, eating Jaffa cakes and watching the sun set.

Crowley was very aware of the romantic direction this situation could be heading if it was allowed to do so even if his friend was still pining for that pillock. He had had a very nice day and all sorts of unusual warm feelings were making themselves known. He decided to see if these these feelings might be reciprocated and so he moved closer, his shoulder and thigh now touching his friend’s. Aziraphale very aware of this new development bravely attempted to ignore it. But Crowley was the master of gentle seduction, he loved the chase however long it took and he always won in the end. Aziraphale rubbed his palms on his trousers, his hands had become unusually sweaty, he could smell Crowley’s cologne, he smelt sensational.

After a minute or two Crowley slipped his hand under Aziraphale’s palm and interlocked their fingers, Aziraphale tried not to look down and just pretended that holding hands was the sort of thing good friends did watching the sun go down. They sat like that as the sun dipped below the horizon, hand in hand, before Crowley raised their fingers to his mouth and gently placed a soft kiss on them.

“Think it’s time to head back Angel, I’ve got a reputation to save.”  
  


*****

Aziraphale sat at his desk and finished booking a company car. He was going to visit the delightful village of Hambledon later that week near Henley-on-Thames. He had asked Crowley if he needed anything doing whilst he was there as a bit of a peace offering after the poor man had been sent out to look over some old bomb crater in a scrubby bit woodland on a wet day in Surrey and Aziraphale had asked him to share his findings. It had all been a bit damp.

After their little tentative step over the boundaries of friendship Aziraphale found himself feeling rather odd around Crowley. He’d get a little jitter in his tummy if he caught the back of his red hair swinging down the stairs or maybe a little more tongue tied than usual if they were out on one of their more pleasurable jobs together. There was part of him that was still convinced he’d read it all wrong and Crowley was just being a kind friend after learning about him ruining his only chance of happiness.

Crowley meanwhile was planning his next move. He was tapping his teeth with a pen, legs up on his desk idly clicking through photographs of quaint English Cottages. He knew now not to go to fast with his friend, jumping in and ravishing him in the back of the Morris Minor would have been nice, but not very appropriate after what he had told him about that dick Anthony, or very comfortable for that matter.

He decided to invite him out for a drink one evening, Aziraphale could make of it what he wanted, friends or otherwise. He’d see how it progressed.

*****

Aziraphale was nervous, he was staring at himself once again in his wardrobe mirror. It was a very warm evening and he’d changed his outfit three times. He had decided on a pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, and stone coloured trousers. He had left his signature bow tie and waistcoat out of the outfit but was now worrying that the open necked shirt exposing a few wisps of blonde hair might be a bit flirty for a drink with a friend. He had no time to ponder further as the intercom buzzed signalling Crowley was unusually on time. He took a deep breath, picked up his satchel and descended the stairs. Crowley was there looking effortless handsome and Aziraphale thought this might turn out to be a very pleasant evening after all.

The bar Crowley had chosen had outside seating and they sat and watched the London night life drift by whilst sharing a bottle of Chablis. The street was packed with tables, lightbulbs were strung up between the umbrellas that covered them, conversation and soft laughter swirled around. Crowley was wearing his usual ensemble, everything different but always the same, maybe there was a bit more red tonight. He was running through the merits of each James Bond car trying to decide which one had been the best. Aziraphale had always liked Roger Moore’s underwater one.

The conversation lulled, Aziraphale decided to be brave. “So, what about you Crowley, tell me a bit about yourself?” Crowley folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, taking another slug of wine, a couple of scruffy pigeons pecked optimistically around his feet. “Only if you want to . . of course.”

“Not much to tell really. Always lived in London. Met my boss when I was in my early twenties still trying to figure out what I wanted. I was working in a bar and Luther was always there with the guys, before the company split, drinking champagne, wearing designer clothes, Rolex watches, fast cars, you get the idea. He came up to me one night and said I should leave this job and join them. They were going to be starting up a new company, and he thought I would fit in.”

He paused to top up their wine glasses, “He promised me a life filled everything I could wish for and I took the proverbial carrot. Turns out finding your feet in such a fickle industry isn’t easy, particularly when you’re up against Gabriel, and now we’re all thrown together down there fighting, backstabbing and making each other’s lives Hell”.

“Oh my dear boy, how do you all get by?” Aziraphale vaguely gestured at the designer labels that adorned his clothes. “You don’t look like things are too bad,”

“I like to spend my money on good clothes, you should see my flat, totally empty apart from a few plants and a massive telly. Minimalist I call it.” He took a sip of his wine, “Luther is a talented bastard and he just about keeps us all afloat – by devious means. He’s also silver tongued genius and talks me out of leaving every time I try. I’ve been doing the same job for over 20 years and I’m still not any nearer the top. It’s okay though, I keep my head down, tell them what they want to hear and they pretty much leave me alone. Unless I miss a deadline, then I’m toast on a pitchfork.”

A couple strolled past them laughing at a shared joke, hands clasped, oblivious to the rest of the world. The pigeons flapped away. Fortified with wine Aziraphale tested out a new topic of conversation.

“You said once Crowley, that you knew what heartbreak looked like, have you been hurt before?”

“Nah, not really, I’m a bit too shallow and self-obsessed for that kind of thing.” He smirked.

“Why did you say it then?”

“Look,” he shifted in his chair, “I’m the cute guy you meet in a bar, I say nice things that you want to hear and we have a good time, maybe go home together. Some people get a bit attached and I have to let them down, it sometimes gets messy. I’m not good with messy. I’ve never wanted to be in a serious relationship before so I’m just cruising along happy being me, doing what I do and if a few hearts get broken on the way I don’t take it personally.”

Crowley sat there twiddling the stem of his glass, looking uncomfortable at his admission. He sounded a right wanker. Aziraphale thought that perhaps going into the psychological root of this behaviour right now was a bit too heavy for a drink with a friend, so he decided a change of subject was needed. He lightly touched Crowley’s arm.

“Did I tell you about the time I met Benedict Cumberbatch in a Costa Coffee in Hammersmith . . . . . “

And so the evening continued in this pleasant vein, swapping ridiculous tall stories and drinking nice wine. If by the end of the night Aziraphale’s hand lingered on Crowley’s arm longer that it needed to whilst revealing a juicy bit of celebrity gossip, then Crowley didn’t pull away. If Crowley edged their knees together under the table so their legs were touching, Aziraphale only tangled his feet closer. By the end of the evening their sides were aching from laughter and their bodies were barely a hair’s breadth apart.

“Oh look at the time!” Aziraphale gasped.

“It’s midnight Angel, the night is young.” Crowley flung out a dramatic arm.

“Yes, but after 12pm the London social scene turns apocalyptic.”

“Point taken, let’s get you home,” he stood up.

“Crowley, you don’t have to walk me home, I’m not your Grandmother.”

“Don’t argue, I invited you out as my date so it’s polite to see you home safely.”

Crowley waited to see how Aziraphale would react now he’d thrown in that new development, he was feeling pretty confident it would land without a splash. The fact that Aziraphale did not protest at the reference to their shifted status and then slipped his arm through Crowley’s was a good indication that his friend might be feeling the same way. Crowley had immensely enjoyed this evening and as they left the square his thoughts naturally snaked further as to what he should do when they arrived at Aziraphale’s flat.

A significant part of him was indicating that it wanted to continue to explore the boundaries of their friendship further, but Crowley was now a little out of his comfort zone. The games he played always ended at the door and he liked to walk away. But he’d never been playing that particular game with Aziraphale, he’d been playing another and he hadn’t given himself the time to make up any new rules.

They walked down the road that led to Aziraphale’s flat, revellers falling out of bars and calling out to each across the street. He didn’t have much time to make up his mind, would he go in if asked?

And if he did go in what would happen then? Was Aziraphale still hung up on that dumb-ass Anthony? Would Aziraphale push him away and then their friendship would be ruined? What if Aziraphale turned out to be some closet sadomasochist with a top draw full of eye watering sex toys. These buttoned-up types often turned out to be the most kinky of all. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Crowley though his current thoughts were worth far more than a penny. They had arrived. No plan.

Aziraphale punched in the building’s key code, it hadn’t changed since the year 2000 when the owner thought it would always be an easy number to remember however drunk you were. He retrieved his door key. “Would you like to come upstairs for a night cap? I’ve got quite a collection of single malt whiskies upstairs,” he said with more confidence than he was feeling.

A few unintelligent sounds came out of Crowleys mouth before, “yeah, okay”, was casually shrugged. He was going to have to think on his feet then. He followed Aziraphale up the dimly lit narrow staircase his heart unusually thumping in his chest. He wondered if his friend was feeling the same.

The door to the flat opened with a click and they stepped inside the dark lounge. Aziraphale moved to turn on a lamp when Crowley reached out and pulled him back by his hand. Aziraphale turned and watched Crowley as he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket, the street lights illuminating his features with a soft yellow glow, his heart skipped a beat.

Crowley drew Aziraphale towards him until their bodies were almost touching, he slid his warm hands down over Aziraphale’s shirt sleeves and then along his bare arms holding his hands loosely where they fell. Something stirred deep in his belly.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for quite some time,” he said, quietly encouraged by Aziraphale’s remaining presence and increasingly erratic breaths.

He brushed away a rogue blonde curl and looked into a pair of wide grey eyes. A look of consternation flickered across them and the shorter man drew a breath as if to speak. Crowley gently raised his hand and placed his thumb upon his friend’s mouth as if to silence any doubts, his fingers softly resting against his cheek. He gave a tiny shake of his head as if to say “please, let us have this moment, don’t run from me.”

Aziraphale remained still, his eyes flickering over his friend’s face trying to convince the rest of his body that this wasn’t what he wanted. He still wanted Anthony didn’t he? Yet his traitorous hands had other ideas and they reached forward to slide over the rise of a very pleasing bottom before skimming over slim hips to encircle Crowley’s waist, thumbs pressing into the soft area either side of his navel. He felt nothing like Anthony and everything like Crowley. It felt better than good.

They stood for a few moments on the line that marked the boundary of their friendship and Crowley silently willed his friend to be brave enough to tumble with him over it into something new.

Crowley gently slid his thumb across Aziraphale’s lips, his mouth following in its wake, brushing over the softness and exploring them further, slowly they started to open to him and respond in turn.

“Well, isn’t this just the sweetest homecoming.” A light snapped on and a dark figure emerged from the back room. Aziraphale sprang away from the kiss as if burned.

“Anthony!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief mention of inflicted bruising.

Crowley scrabbled in his pocket to replace his sunglasses staring in horror at this weirdly distorted replica of himself. He was slightly heavier with dark short hair, but the rest of the similarities were uncanny.

“How did you get in here?” Aziraphale asked in a quiet voice.

“You left me a key remember dummy.” He drawled. “Just in case I changed my mind, well turns out I did.”

“You did?” He repeated.

“Yeah, we can all make mistakes, hey, even me,” he cackled unpleasantly. “Who’s your new boyfriend?”

“He . . He’s . . not my boyfriend,” Aziraphale stammered out.

“Ha, could have fooled me!” He held out a hand to Crowley in mock welcome, “Anthony Crawly,” he also accentuated the ‘th’ as he introduced himself. “I expect Aziraphale here has told you all about us?”

Crowley refused the proffered hand and met his stare instead, “Anthony Crowley,” he said with a sharp ‘t’.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, “your . . . your name is Anthony?”

“Yeah, you don’t like it?”

Aziraphale looked like he was going to be sick.

Crawly sidled up to Aziraphale and slipped an arm around his shoulders signifying some degree of ownership. Aziraphale didn’t shake him off. Crawly looked over at Crowley with a sneer and then made the doppelgänger connection between them both and grinned nastily, “well I can see by the looks of you how much he missed getting his hands on me. Apart from the . . . . ginger thing.” He said pointing to his hair.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who was at this moment willing himself to swoon like a 1940’s heroine and wake up after the show was over.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said, a cold feeling creeping up his spine, “I won’t leave, unless you want me too.” Shit. Since when had he become the paragon of nobility? He was usually the first one to slither away at any sign of trouble. 

“Aaaahhhh, sweet,” drawled Crawly, “we’d appreciate the company another time, but it’s late, I think you should be getting home. Aziraphale and I have a lot to catch up on, hey babe.” He held Aziraphale’s face steady and administered a possessive kiss to his lips, Aziraphale still didn’t pull away.

“Can I talk to you Crowley?” Aziraphale said unsteadily, taking Crawly’s hands away from his face and turning to Crowley. “Downstairs, if you would?” He was pale and his hands were shaking.

Crowley’s stomach twisted, he took one last look at the smug bastard who waved a hand cheerily at him and strode out the door. Aziraphale followed him not knowing what to think or say and wishing he was 6000 miles away.

Crowley flung the bottom door open and welcomed to cool air that hit his face. He resisted the urge to run and turned his back to the wall, fists clenched, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. He needed some sort of explanation for what the Hell had just happened and he knew he’d get nothing out of his friend up there. Aziraphale followed him out and stood in front of him, hand rubbing over his mouth, searching for words that wouldn’t make this whole situation worse.

Crowley broke the silence, head against the brickwork, he looked up in to the night sky.

“You’re going back to him, aren’t you?” He said after a deep exhale.

Aziraphale looked at his shoes, then at his hands and then tried to look Crowley in the face.

“Crowley, I left him with the option to come back, no questions asked. Twenty years is a lifetime together, I can’t give our relationship up that easily, not without trying again. You have to work through the hard times, don’t you? Be ready to resolve fall outs and move on.” It felt good to say it out loud but somehow it sounded like was he trying to convince himself too.

“So I was just a temporary replacement for him, was I?” He sighed, hiding any emotion, “a red headed ‘Anthony Band Aid’ to patch you up before he came back.”

“No, Crowley. I never thought of it like that. Until a moment ago we were just friends,” he tried not to think about the flirty shirt and the footsie under the table earlier, “still are friends, aren’t we . . still friends? He trailed off.

“No Aziraphale, I can’t be friends, I don’t want to be friends with you,” Crowley’s voice wavered, “You must know now, I want to be more than friends.” He laughed pityingly at himself, “see, never happy with what I’ve got, selfish through and through.”

Aziraphale ran a hand over his face and exhaled, he moved closer and reached out an tentative hand to touch Crowley’s thin shoulder, he didn’t shake him off. The London nightlife continued to surge around them.

“Do you remember our conversation tonight outside the bar? You told me you were happiest doing what you did best, not getting tied down, avoiding serious relationships, no commitments, just having fun. Crowley, I’m not like that, I want somebody that I can call mine, someone to share my life with, to wake up next to every morning, no matter what the day throws at us. Even if it’s not perfect. Can you tell me honestly if you are that sort of person, Anthony?

Crowley thought if there was an Angel of Comeuppance, she would now be sat on her cloud with her best friend the Angel of Karma pointing at him and laughing, a vengeful look on their sagacious faces.

He stared through his sunglasses an said in a measured tone. “I said I hadn’t _been_ in a serious relationship before, not that I didn’t _want_ to have one. Maybe I was playing around just wondering if the right person could come along.” He winced at the cliché and shook off Aziraphale’s arm. “You were pretty close.”

So there it was. He was faced with a devil of a choice. Was it better the Anthony you know, or the Anthony you don’t? Was he brave enough to throw away twenty years on the weight of a single kiss?

Aziraphale stared at him, “I’m so sorry Crowley.”

Crowley levered himself off the wall. “See you around Aziraphale, have a nice life.”

Aziraphale watched the familiar red hair until it turned a corner and disappeared, he then turned back slowly and went inside.

*****

**Battersea Park, London**

Four weeks had passed since Anthony had appeared in his flat and late summer had started to give way to Autumn, the London parks were turning rich with the hues of red, bronze and gold. Aziraphale was on his way back from another day at the hands of ‘Angelic Design’. Gabriel had been on his case this week for too many frivolous expenses and sent him a sternly worded Memo. He was lucky it hadn’t been another humiliating dressing down in full view of the office.

He breathed in the cool air and wondered what Anthony had been up to today, he was still looking for the odd acting job but was usually happy to amuse himself around the bars and cafes of the capital. Life had quietly slipped back into a new version of normality and Aziraphale believed himself to be lucky. They had talked a lot over the first few weeks trying to straighten out where Aziraphale had gone wrong and what he could do better. He’d listened to Anthony and had really tried his best to improve their life together. In the second week Anthony had surprised him with tickets to see the London Symphony Orchestra at the Albert Hall after that they had dined at the Ritz, it had all started off very promisingly.

This last week hadn’t been so good, Anthony had spent a little too long at some of his favourite bars in town and had returned quite tipsy when he got home from work cancelling any plans they had made. He smelled of an unfamiliar aftershave on one particularly late evening, though Aziraphale refused to draw any conclusions from this. He knew that Anthony didn’t carry his alcohol well and Aziraphale had asked him to perhaps stay off it until he got home when they could share a bottle of something together.

Things had got a bit ugly then, so maybe it would be a conversation for another day.

Despite this he was content . . . . .

Content . . . . despite this nagging ache in his chest.

He assumed the Anthony Crawly chest ache would disappear when he came back into his life. So why was it still there? He had everything he wanted now didn’t he. This is what he’d missed all those months. His Anthony, who he’d known almost all his adult life. The familiarity of him was like coming home.

Aziraphale kicked his way through some of the first fallen leaves, he hadn’t seen Crowley since the debacle on the doorstep and he unsurprisingly hadn’t replied to any of his text messages. He was obviously avoiding him. Aziraphale missed him, the fool that he was.

He looked at his wristwatch, it was 6.30pm, it wouldn’t be getting dark for a few hours. He stared down for a moment at the yellowing finger shaped bruises that were hidden underneath his shirt sleeves. Anthony had been a bit rough with him the other night when he had taken him in their bed, he thought it was something they ought to talk about one day.

Aziraphale found a bench in the park and sat down, not in any hurry to get home and watched the joggers puff by in the evening air. His mind unintentionally drifted back to Crowley, and the intimate moment they had shared in his flat a month ago. After the tender kiss they shared he couldn’t imagine Crowley being anything but the most gentle and considerate of lovers, something Anthony had always unfortunately lacked. 

He was sure if they hadn’t been interrupted Crowley’s hands would have been slow and careful, his voice soft and affectionate. Maybe he would have paused whilst running his long fingers over his skin to ask if this was good, or was this better? Would he have caressed him with murmured words or said something ridiculous making them both laugh, his eyes unshaded and that soft smile never far from his lips.

How would he sound as they rose together and shared their pleasure, would he have called out his name or sworn like a sailor? Aziraphale laughed quietly.

He thought he’d like falling asleep curled up in his arms.

Aziraphale stood up, and shook himself, something was deeply wrong with him, he shouldn’t be thinking of Crowley like this, he was back with Anthony now, but something didn’t feel right. With a slow and sickening feeling of realisation he recognised the shape of the ache left behind in his chest, it wasn’t Crawly shaped at all, but Crowley shaped. Had he made the wrong choice, and if he had, now he had to live with it, with nobody else to blame but himself. 

He slowly began his walk home, “I think I’ve made rather a mess of things,” he thought sadly.

**The Enterprise, Red Lion Street, London**

Crowley meanwhile was sitting at a table in a bar in Holborn in a melancholic stupor, he was commiserating with the best part of a bottle of whisky and it hadn’t cheered him up. All he could think about was how he had lost his friend and possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him to that arsehole. He didn’t mean to fall for him, he had just sauntered vaguely into this Arrangement not realising that he was actually falling in love a little bit. Crowley pulled a face at this admission, it wasn’t in his nature to be demonstrative with his feelings, they left him feeling a bit of a sap.

He thought he should be over all this by now but his mind kept conjuring up memories of the past few months and they appeared like apparitions in the whisky haze before him. The final one of them, kissing in the room above the bookshop, burst into flames right in front of his face. He settled his tab and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Anthony (with a th) had to be Script!Crowley.


	6. Chapter 6

**West London, Head Office**

Aziraphale had been in meetings all day, he was really tired and Gabriel has been a corporate nightmare, he said they were useless he’d be happy to stand there and watch them all burn in Hell.

Aziraphale had suggested to Anthony they went to the sushi restaurant around the corner tonight and he really wanted to get home and freshen up. The street outside the warehouse was unusually quiet, it must have gotten late, as he looked around a recognisable figure detached itself from a lamp post and came swaying up towards him.

“You’re late out, I’ve been waiting here for ever.” He slurred.

“Anthony!” said Aziraphale taken aback, “why are you here, is anything wrong?”

“I don’t need permission to see my boyfriend do I?” The overwhelming smell of whisky on his breath and unsteady movements made Aziraphale quickly try to pull him away from the front of his building to somewhere quieter.

“You’re so drunk,” he hissed. “You promised me you wouldn’t get like this again. It was part of our . . our . . deal.”

“You and your fucking deals!” Drawled Crawly with a laugh refusing to be led away.

“Look, I need to take you home, just let me call a taxi.” He fumbled in his satchel trying to fish out his mobile.

“Nah, Come and get a drink with me, Aziraphale, I missed you today.” His expression changed and he grabbed the blonde man’s mobile and held it out of his reach with a long arm.

With the other he pined Aziraphale against the side windows of the building with a long arm sending familiar sparks of alarm through his stomach. There was going to be a scene, outside his office, and there nothing he was going to be able to do to stop it.

“Come on Aziraphale,” he leered, “kiss me here, I dare you. In front of all your nice work friends.”

“Anthony please,” Aziraphale begged humiliated, “please let’s just go home.”

Crawly dropped his phone on to the pavement and it slid into the road, he shoved Aziraphale up against the wall gripping him by the lapels, staggering slightly. Aziraphale tried to untangle himself from the hold attempting distract Crawly from embarrassing him further.

“Ha! I knew it, ashamed of me aren’t you,” he sneered, “always thought you were bloody better than me, Mr Fucking High and Mighty.” He slammed Aziraphale against the side of the building knocking the wind out of him.

Crawly’s raised voice had attracted a small crowd of observers from inside the building, it was kicking out time downstairs and the ejected rabble were on their way out to drink away the torments of the day. They stopped to watch the scene unfold as the taller of the two men outside the building lifted his hand and bought it sharply across the face of the smaller man.

SHIT!

The blond man yelped and flinched away holding his arm up to deflect any further blows, whilst the darker of the two grabbed him spitting obscenities in his face and shaking him like rag doll. Obviously unsatisfied with any of the responses that were being gasped a fist was raised ready to make contact with the terrified victim whose pleas we’re going unheard.

Aziraphale saw the punch coming and closed his eyes bracing himself for the inevitable blow.

The silence was split by sickening sound of fist hitting face and two people were yelling in pain. Aziraphale apparently was neither of them. He cautiously opened his eyes.

“FUCK!” Yelled Crawly floored, rolling on the pavement cradling his bleeding nose.

“FUCK!” Yelled Crowley jumping up and down holding his smarting hand under a leather clad armpit. “Shit, that hurt.”

“Oh Fuck.” Whispered Aziraphale and the Crowley shaped ache in his chest started to glow.

Crowley stood over the flattened form of Anthony Crawly and grabbed him by his jacket pulling him up off the pavement that was spattered with his blood and hissed in to his face.

“I swear Crawly if you’re not out of London by the time _he_ (pointing wildly in Aziraphale’s direction) gets home tonight, the boys and I will come round and help you pack, and you’ll be the one leaving in a suitcase. Do you understand me?”

Crowley prayed to someone that ‘the boys’ were actually behind him and not still watching at a safe distance from inside the building. But today he felt lucky, he knew they wouldn’t miss a fight, particularly if that ‘flash bastard’ was involved.

“Right!” Heckled the infernal rabble, unity amongst the damned.

“And I swear if you ever lay as much as a finger on him again I’ll make such a hideous mess of your face that your only identifiable feature will be your broken aquiline nose.” The stupid idiot probably didn’t even know he had one. Anger raged inside him as he looked down at the man who had taken away his friend, broken him. “How could you ever hurt him, you bloody coward.” 

He shoved him back down on the pavement.

The sprawled form of Anthony Crawly gathered itself together and stood up nose still dripping with blood and squared up to Crowley. The two tall men glared at each other eyes locked and teeth bared a tension between them like a rubber band ready to snap. A mirror image of each other only easily distinguished by the colour of their hair. Two forms so similar yet so unalike. Two characters playing the same part in different shows. Neither prepared to back down. To lose. Stalemate.

A white handkerchief appeared between the two seething forms and a pale skinned hand offered it to the darker haired of the two. “For your nose Anthony, it’s a dreadful mess,” Aziraphale inserted himself tactically between the two men and faced Crawly, confident now that Crowley had placed his uninjured hand on his shoulder.

“He’s right Anthony. I want you to pack up and leave right away. What we had is over. . . . I think it had been over for a while. Now please do as he says and go before my friends here . . . .” He cleared his throat and straightened his waistcoat, “ . . . fuck you right up.” Crowley squeezed his shoulder.

Anthony Crawly grabbed the handkerchief and held it against his swollen nose. With one last scathing look at scene around him he spat a glob of blood at Aziraphale’s feet and disappeared into the wave of commuters and hopefully out of his life forever. The rabble jeered him a suitable farewell.

“You okay Angel?” Crowley tried to feign an air of nonchalance as he came down off the adrenaline, but the shake in his voice betrayed him otherwise. He looked at the red patch that was blossoming on Aziraphale’s pale cheek and he touched it gently with the back of his fingers. Whilst it looked sore he was pleased that he’d adverted whatever further horror that monster was going to inflict upon that beautiful face.

Aziraphale smoothed down his waistcoat, straightened his bow tie and bent down to pick up his phone.

“If I known I was going to be rescued by such an articulate hero today I would have certainly worn my best bow tie.” He looked into Crowley sunglasses and gave him a weak smile. “Aquiline nose indeed!”

“Come on, everyone knows what one of those is.” He said with a smirk.

Aziraphale placed a soft hand on Crowley’s chest, “Thank you my dear, I don’t really know what else to say.” His voice wavered his hand began to shake. “Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t turned up.” There were tears in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have a smashed up bloody hand. That’s what.” Crowley looked at his red knuckles. “Come on Angel, I need a drink. Let’s get pissed while that wanker of an ex-boyfriend of yours leaves town.”

*****  
  


Aziraphale and Crowley sat in a small trendy café bar in Soho seated across the table from each other. The intimacy of their recent date together now hardly conceivable. Crowley poured the last of the second bottle of wine in to Aziraphale’s glass, he didn’t order another. Awkwardness had returned and the conversation between them had been somewhat stilted, the hubbub of voices and the clink of glassware a welcome background between the long pauses. Despite Crowley’s insistence that he should press charges Aziraphale now just wanted Anthony gone from his life, the slap across his face would soon fade and he was lucky that his skin wasn’t broken, or worse.

Aziraphale fiddled with a drinks mat thinking through this uncomfortable situation he found himself in. Over a month ago he had blown out his best friend for someone whose historically ugly behaviour he had preferred not to acknowledge. This same friend had then put his hurt aside and saved him from a pretty nasty assault at the hands of this boyfriend. He was certainly on the moral back foot here but he had a inkling that Crowley wouldn’t see it that way, he was proving to be one of the good ones.

His eyes flicked across to Crowley’s face, it was as usual unreadable.

He wondered where his relationship with Crowley would go from now, since Anthony was out of the picture. Would Crowley still want anything to do with him? The way that had parted that fateful night made Aziraphale believe that Crowley had wanted more than his usual casual fling. Had he ruined any chance of finding out if they could be more than friends?

They ordered coffee.

At 11pm Crowley suggested that they returned to Aziraphale’s flat and he gratefully accepted the offer. His hands were shaking as he punched in the door code.

“Would you mind just coming up with me Crowley?” Aziraphale said as he paused in the doorway. “To check he’s gone.”

“Yeah, if you want.” He quirked a smile. “Not sure if this hero business is really good for my image though.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he pushed open the door. “Are all heroes as insufferable as you?”

“Only the very good looking ones.”

He smiled despite himself, maybe things would be alright, “what shall we do if he’s still there?” He finally asked.

“I’m not fighting him again if that’s what you want.”

Aziraphale pouted, “Oh, that is a shame, you really were rather good”

The mood lightened slightly they ascended the small staircase that led to Aziraphale’s flat, with a look back at Crowley he opened the door and stepped cautiously inside. Crowley waited outside leaning on the door frame praying to somebody that Anthony had gone. There had definitely been enough heroics today to last him the millennia.

“He’s gone” breathed Aziraphale rubbing his hands over his face. “He also left the key so, as they say, that’s the end of that.” Tears of relief prickled at his lids, relief tinged with a little sadness at what was now definitely over.

Neither spoke for a few minutes each lost in their own thoughts. Crowley didn’t move from the door. Aziraphale continued searching for something to say. “Well, this is a bit like déjà vu, ”probably wasn’t the best choice. “Would you like to come in?” at least had potential, his hands twisted together, a knot threatened to strangle his insides. “We’ve still have that whisky to drink.”

Crowley slowly looked up his expression obscured behind his dark lenses, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” He scratched the back of his head and looked at the floor.

“Oh,” Aziraphale managed.

“I think you need to sort out what you want Angel. . . before you go breaking hearts again.”

He righted himself off the door frame and Aziraphale listened to the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the stairs.

He had broken Crowley’s heart.

*****

It was Monday afternoon and a fortnight since the incident involving Anthony and the last time he had seen Crowley. Aziraphale was standing in his kitchenette looking at a formal letter he had received from Michael when he had turned up for work on Wednesday. The letterhead was a familiar bold design and the contents direct.

Dear Aziraphale Fell,

I am writing to notify you that you are hereby suspended on full pay in order for the company to complete an investigation into an allegation that you have been sharing sensitive company data with an employee from Morning Star Creative.

During this suspension you will not attend your place of work other than for the purpose of attending a disciplinary hearing. Nor shall you contact any other employees from either company, without your superiors consent.

I will be writing to you in the next few days to arrange a suitable date for you to attend a disciplinary hearing where this matter can be discussed in detail.

Yours sincerely,

Micheal Angel  
HR Manager, Angelic Design.

“It was hardly that sensitive,” scoffed Aziraphale throwing down the letter, and sitting himself down with his cup of tea. What had become of him he thought. He was just about to lose everything dear to him. It was all rather humiliating.

The following letter had arrived today inviting him to attend a disciplinary meeting on Friday 21st October at 9.15am. It was to be held in what was internally referred to as the ‘Armageddon Suite’, the neutral ground where both companies met if they had no choice. This was serious then, were both upstairs and downstairs involved? Was Crowley as in as much hot water as he was? Well, he was certainly going to find out on Friday. He sipped his tea and read the letters again.

  
  


*****

“We were only doing our jobs” muttered Crowley, he screwed up both letters and shot them in to the bin in the corner of his flat. It was 8am on Friday 21st October, Crowley picked up his mobile phone and slammed the front door behind him.

*****

Aziraphale was waiting nervously in the warehouse foyer when a familiar figure flung the entrance doors open with a certain degree of contempt. 

“You’ve cut your hair!” Aziraphale blurted out.

“So I have,” he replied tersely.

“It suits you.”

“Thanks”.

“Have you been called in too?”

“Obviously,” he shot out.

“Obviously,” Aziraphale repeated resigned.

“What time have they got you in?” Crowley asked.

“9.15. You?”

“Same.”

Oh my, thought Aziraphale, they were in this together then. If they were going to be fighting on the same side then he certainly needed to clear the air. He turned to the sullen looking red head who was pulling off super-cool with a scowl, his new red quiff setting off his angular features perfectly.

“Well now, you can either stand there sulking and face whatever it is behind those doors on your own or you can at least forgive me for my grave error of judgement and we can go down fighting together. Us against them.”

“I happen like you Anthony Crowley, very much indeed, and whilst I appreciate that your opinion of me may have changed, I’d like you to know that I am aware I made a very poor choice that day. If only you could stop time then I’d ask you to take me back to that moment so I could choose you, but maybe I don’t deserve that happy ending.”

“So, if we both survive this ridiculousness,” he gestured towards the doors where raised voices were becoming quite audible, “then I’d like to ask if you would consider being friends again. Perhaps more than friends. . . one day . . . but if you don’t . . . well then that’s also fine, with me . . . . as I shouldn’t assume . . . you would . . .” He really needed to stop talking now.

Crowley looked serious for a moment, his arms folded in front of him, not used to having the upper hand in an argument like this. _Together_ , Aziraphale had said, he liked the sound of that. Together they may stand a chance of salvaging some sort of dignity in front of what was in wait for them behind those double doors. And although Aziraphale hadn’t directly apologised for breaking his heart he was having trouble recalling why he was angry with him as he stared in to a pair of large sorrowful grey eyes. .

“Well, it’s true you have been a bit of a bastard, but maybe that’s what I like about you, and maybe you are lucky that deep down . . . . I am a little bit of a good person.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled in away that simply said. “I forgive you.”

Aziraphale beamed. An almighty rumpus kicked off from within the Armageddon Suite, fur was already flying between the two companies.

“Although we could just . . . run off together?” suggested Crowley thumbling over his shoulder and edging away from the shouting.

Aziraphale shook his head and held out his hand. Crowley took it.

“Nice knowing you.” He said as they walked hand in hand through the double doors.

*****

He loaded the last of the suitcases into his car, a small pot plant was then nestled between them for safety. He returned inside for his satchel and swept his eyes over this home they had shared together.

“Aziraphale! Are you coming?” A voice hollered up the stairwell.

He smiled and bounded down the stairs. Crowley was there trying to find room for his suitcase in the back of the stuffed Morris Minor.

“So where are we going? It looks like you’ve packed for a month” he said wedging it in at last.

Aziraphale’s blue eyes sparkled, “It’s a surprise.”

“Just for the record, I hate surprises.” Crowley leaned his bum on the car and readjusted his sunglasses.

“Oh very well,” Aziraphale grumbled, “now that we’re both officially unemployed I thought it might be nice to spend a little time together, to see how things turn out.”

“And?” said Crowley.

“As it turns out Anthony has vacated the cottage in the South Downs and had returned to the States. Indefinitely.”

“I see,” said Crowley, “I said I’d run him out of town for you”.

“Yes, well, thank you for that.” Aziraphale stepped towards him. “The thing is Crowley . . . can I call you Anthony?”

“Nope.”

“Right. The thing is Crowley, I have decided to rent out my flat here in London as I will soon be returning to Sussex, to live, I really was so happy there by the sea.”

Crowley folded his arms over his chest not trusting where this conversation was going. Aziraphale slowly untangled them and smoothed them down by his sides. He looked up in to his sunglasses.

“Look, if it’s not too presumptuous of me to assume this week together goes well . . . I had hoped . . . “ He blushed.

“Hmmmmm?”

“I had hoped, that if you wanted a break from city life you could join me now and again and if that went well, maybe . . . well maybe . . . for longer . . . we’ll see how it goes.” He stuttered out.

“You’ve got it all planned out haven’t you”. He said with a glimmer of a smile. Things were looking rosey for Crowley.

“It’s all part of the Great Plan, my dear” Aziraphale said and stood up on tip toes and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. Rosey indeed. Crowley returned the kiss. It felt very good.

They climbed into the car and Aziraphale started the engine, the rest of their lives stretched before them.

“Just one thing, before we go,” added Crowley cautiously.

“Yes of course?” Aziraphale replied, his hand reached over and rested upon a long leg.

“You’re not a closet sadomasochist are you?” Crowley eyed the suitcases with suspicion wondering which one contained the painful sex toys.

“Never judge a book by its cover my dear.” He said with a squeeze of his knee and they pulled away.


	7. Epilogue

**Tadfield Cottage, South Downs, Sussex**

“Time to wake up, dear boy, we’re nearly there.” Aziraphale gently shook the snoring red head.

Crowley lifted himself from the crook of his arm and readjusted his sunglasses. “Must have dozed off for a second, sorry.”

“You fell asleep when we turned off the M25.”

The Morris Minor purred through the chalk hills of the Sussex countryside passing through tiny villages that nestled between the stunning views of the English Channel. At the top of a hillside that looked over the sea the car turned off down a small chalk track and headed for a group of trees. It drove through an open gate and crunched up a gravel drive to a small white cottage with a tidy green lawn and carefully tended flowerbeds, now dormant in the November chills.

“To give him a little credit, Anthony was quite green fingered, the garden looks stunning in the summer.”

From the set of Crowley’s mouth Aziraphale wisely thought that was the one and only time his ex-boyfriend would be mentioned this week.

He pulled the car to a stop outside the front door and switched off the engine, Crowley was sat with his arms folded looking over at the front of the cottage. A climbing rose arched over the door and continued to grow up to the small second floor windows that were set in to the roof. Around the porch galvanised milk churns and watering cans planted up with summer’s fading geraniums fought for space with terracotta pots of lavender and rosemary. A light blue painted cartwheel with the name ‘Tadfield Cottage’ written in black was fixed to the wall next to a small wooden bench overlooking the front garden.

“It’s very you,” conceded Crowley. He was starting to worry if Aziraphale’s tartan picnic blanket was just the tip of a very twee iceberg.

“Thank you,” beamed Aziraphale leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, “now please let’s go in, I can’t wait to show you around.”

Aziraphale got out of the car and a chilly breeze whipped around him, he stepped into the porch and opened the front door.

“Shall I . . . erm . . . bring in anything?” called Crowley.

“Oh yes please, just grab the suitcases for now.”

Crowley shook his head and smiled, he could see where this was going. He opened the double doors at the back of the Morris Minor and pulled out their cases. He followed Aziraphale inside leaving the front door open to complete his inevitable trips later.

  
*****  
  


Crowley found Aziraphale in his cosy lounge flicking through some post, it was actually very tastefully decorated in white and grey, not at all fussy. A wing-backed chair and a comfy sofa with a blue tartan throw sat either side of a wood burner, the logs piled up beside it in a decorative fashion.

“Where shall I put these?” Crowley asked, gesturing with the two suitcases.

“Oh, erm, right” Aziraphale flushed, the million dollar question suddenly hanging in the air.

He had chosen to ignore thinking about the bedroom situation since his offer of a break away together and now here it was, impatiently staring him in the face. “Well there are two bedrooms upstairs. I would never . . . want to you to think I . . . presumed we would share . . erm . . . ” he struggled on stoically trying to be a good host by putting his guest at ease and failing miserably. “You could sleep in the spare room if you like?” he got out at last.

Crowley dropped the suitcases on the floor and looked with indignation at his very embarrassed host.

“Hang on a minute,” he said, “you invite me all the way out here for a dirty week in the countryside and now you’re putting me up in the guest room?”

Aziraphale went shade beyond puce, “I did no such thing!”

“Yes you did, you just said I could sleep in the spare room.”

“That’s not what I meant! I did not invite you here for a ‘whatever you want to call it’, I said I thought this would be a good opportunity to get to know each other better. Obviously you just have a one track mind . . . and a depraved one at that.” He said with a huff.

“Depraved,” said Crowley, “now I like the sound of that,” his face broke into a grin.

“Oh you are an utter fiend!” Aziraphale cried, swiping at him with his letters, half relieved, “I keep forgetting how truly awful you really are.”

“You didn’t seem to mind me so much before we left, as I recall you kissed me very nicely, I haven’t thought of much else since we left London.”

Aziraphale wondered if he would ever return to his natural skin shade this week.

“Well since you were asleep for half the journey it can’t have distracted you that much.”

“You don’t know what I was dreaming about.”

“Oh good Lord,” laughed Aziraphale. “If you must know I kissed you before we left to reassure you that I meant what I said about liking you a lot, just before we got fired.”

“And,” fished Crowley, “any other reason?”

If Aziraphale had learnt one thing in his life it was how to deal with an over inflated ego.

“And, of course,” Aziraphale put down his post and looked at him pointedly, “because I find you extremely attractive.”

“Hmmmm,” said Crowley reflectively, “and what would you do if I were to say that I might need some more reassurance now you have me here alone, so far from home?”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes and stepped towards Crowley and entwined their fingers together. He smiled and repeated the question, “What would I do, now I have you here in my house all alone?” He ran his hands up under Crowley’s jacket and over his slender waist. “Maybe first I would ask you, my dear, to let me remove your sunglasses so I can see every inch of your handsome face. And if that was something you agreed to perhaps then I would to kiss you soundly and deeply for a very long time, until you felt reassured that I liked you . . . very much indeed.”

Crowley made a very small noise and nodded. “Fine,” he shrugged.

Aziraphale smiled and rested his hands on the arms of Crowley’s sunglasses before sliding them gently towards him. Crowley’s hands came up and stopped him briefly, “me too,” he simply said.

“You old softy,” blue eyes twinkled, Aziraphale folded up the glasses and put them carefully on the coffee table. He looked in to Crowley’s unfamiliar brown eyes for a moment, not for too long, he didn’t want him bolting for the door, before resting his hands either side of his face and pulling him gently towards him. The kiss he delivered was everything as promised, he started off slowly with featherlight caresses to the corners of Crowley’s lips before slowly pressing in, taking his time to explore every tantalising inch of his mouth. Crowley’s hands had involuntary risen to slide themselves around Aziraphale’s back and he returned the kiss with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. When Aziraphale had expressed what he had set out to achieve he withdrew regretfully from the embrace leaving one last gentle touch of his lips on Crowley’s forehead. “You gorgeous thing, you.”

And because he also fancied a bit of revenge after Crowley had tormented him so devilishly over the bed situation said, “right, I think I fancy a nice cup of tea, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Crowley stood there staring after him, his body rendered useless, his mind now a runaway train of thought careering down one single track, out of control.

“Wait!” Crowley whimpered, “you can’t kiss me like that and then leave me to go and make yourself a cup of tea.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you want one too?” Aziraphale smirked and left the lounge for the kitchen.

Crowley couldn’t help but break out into a quiet laugh despite his predicament, he’d really met his match here and he loved it. “Right. Fine. I’ll take the cases upstairs then, to our room, you bastard.” He called out.

Aziraphale leant against the kitchen counter and switched on the kettle for good measure, he appreciated a moment to cool down a little, that kiss had made him quite breathless, he really hadn’t planned on things getting that heated within the first 10 minutes of arriving. He hardly recognised himself. The kettle started to bubble.

And whilst he really could do with a cup of tea, it had been a long drive, he also very aware that Crowley was upstairs right now in his bedroom albeit in a melodramatic huff. He wasn’t traditionally the sort of man who indulged in a bit of afternoon delight but if there was one thing he had learnt, today was the first day of the rest of his life and there was no better time to live than now. He turned off the kettle, smoothed down his waistcoat and went up the creaky stairs.

Aziraphale paused outside the half open bedroom door and listened for any sign of life, none came, he raised his hand to knock gently and a long arm suddenly shot out, grabbed his wrist and hauled him through the door.  
  


*****

Marjorie Potts was taking a friend’s black and white Jack Russell out for a walk along the public footpath that ran down the side of ‘Tadfield Cottage’. The village news had it that the unpleasant Mr Crawly had gone back to America and that his lovely blonde haired partner had been seen back at the cottage early last week. She looked over at the half unpacked car, the front door wide open and the most peculiar noises coming from the upstairs open window. She listened for a moment before she broke out into a knowing smile. It sounded like that nice Mr Fell was being thoroughly ravished and loving every second of it. She listened for a second longer and from the laughter and string of profanities it seemed that his gentleman friend was enjoying himself immensely too.

She patted Dog’s head “Come on then, let’s leave them to it, I can’t keep my 2 O’clock waiting, he’ll start to chafe.”


End file.
